


and with you, I am home

by secondhxnd



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, hawkhawks, literally just them bring soft and gay ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 22:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20397430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhxnd/pseuds/secondhxnd
Summary: Clint comes home late, and Ashi is up early.This is soft and gay and that's it. And also short. Don't expect plot.





	and with you, I am home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkyslumber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkyslumber/gifts).

> Ashi/Ashitaka is Hawks.  
This is Inky's universe, I'm just easily dragged in with bird boy and archery boy. This is fine.  
also I'm gonna call myself out in advance with both the fic name and the chapter titles. Don't judge me.

He isn’t about to wake him up, he needs the sleep. Clint meant to be back much earlier, but life didn’t always play by his rules and New York City traffic didn’t care about his plans. It looks like Ashitaka fell asleep waiting for him, the curtains are still open and the light by Clint’s side of the bed is still on, casting soft shadows around the room. Ashitaka’s chest rises and falls slowly with each breath, and Clint is as quiet as he can manage as he takes his gear off. His shoes are set in the closet neatly and his equipment is left on the desk to be checked over in the morning, and he closes the bathroom door behind him before turning the shower on. He lets the water run hotter than usual, wet hair dripping in his face and steam rising around him as he stands under the spray. Rather than the intended effect he feels more awake upon stepping out but it isn’t like there’s anything he can do about that, so he roughly dries his hair then wraps the towel around his waist. If he tries to go to bed now he knows he’d be in for at least half an hour of trying to find a comfortable position, and he absolutely refuses to wake Ashitaka with his tossing and turning. 

He sighs softly, crossing the room to close the curtains and then settling in to the desk chair, resigning himself to finding something to occupy him until his mind quiets enough to let him sleep without too much fuss. The light is enough to see by but it isn’t enough to comfortably read, and his attention quickly drifts from his book to where Ashitaka lays sprawled atop the blankets. One blood-red wing drapes over the empty side of the bed just like it would if Clint were beside him. Clint’s eyes trail up the line of those feathers, from long dramatic primaries to alulae, coverts, secondaries, scapulars; hours of helping Ashitaka take care of them cementing the terms in his head. He likes listening to Ashitaka talk, and he likes getting to be a part of something so important to him. All that time had taught him more than just technical terms though, and while he watches the way his feathers flutter slightly in his sleep it’s easy to recall how those feathers feel between his fingers, how they get softer the closer he gets to the base of the wing. Ashitaka doesn’t ever wear a shirt to bed, the wings get tangled up in things plenty without the extra fabric, and Clint takes in the expanse of bare skin across his strong back. He knows what every inch of him feels like, knows the power hidden in lithe muscles, and he knows he doesn’t spend nearly enough time appreciating it all. Not that enough is really even possible, Ashitaka deserves all the attention he could give him, and then some. 

He lets his mind continue drifting, eyes trailing across to where the other wing lay half-folded against the bed, primaries just barely brushing the floor. He follows the sharp line of red against white sheets back up to blond hair, permanently tousled but all the worse with bedhead. It falls over his eyes and half hides his face from view but still he looks so relaxed in sleep, lips gently parted and expression free of worry and the public persona he put on every time he went out. Clint likes every side of him, but he can’t deny how much he likes this softer side of him in particular, the one only those closest to him ever get to see. He watches the slow rise and fall of Ashitaka’s steady breathing until he starts to feel sleepy himself and stands up, exchanging his damp towel for sweat pants that are probably Ashitaka’s based on the length.

The wing stretched out over his side of the bed is still a problem but he shifts it as gently as he can, sliding in close beside Ashitaka and letting it fall back over him. It’s heavy enough to be comforting without being stifling, and the soft feathers brushing against his side are warm. Ashitaka stirs and Clint freezes, praying he hadn’t woken him, but he only shifts closer against him before settling into a deep sleep once more. Clint releases the breath he’s been holding, reaching out to lightly tuck ashitaka’s hair behind his ear. His eyes start to feel heavy and he doesn’t fight it, admiring the perfect lines of his husband’s face. Ashitaka always has endless modeling contracts lined up and there’s no question as to why; he’s breathtakingly beautiful and it still makes a strange feeling flutter in Clint’s chest when he remembers Ashitaka is all his. His eyes close and he focuses on the wing draped across his body and the light floral scent of Ashitaka’s needlessly expensive shampoo, ignoring the dim light still on as he gave himself over to sleep.


End file.
